Rule Them All
by BenSky-VestaraKhai
Summary: When the orcs attacked Isildur near the Gladden Fields, it is known he lost the Ring of Power in the river. But what if the Valar intervened once more in the fate of Middle-earth and opened a rift in time and space, sending it to ... Westeros.
1. Chapter 1

**"At the dawn of the third century after Aegon's Conquest of Westeros, the realm was in a troubled state.** **The change was evident in the very structure of its aristocracy.** **Robert's Rebellion ,which had ensued eighteen years earlier, was** **the least of the reasons why.** **In the North, the Starks and their bannermen, still burning with impotent fury** **from the failure of their righteous rebellion, had slowly built up their strength and waited for their time to come again. Their closest allies, the Riverlands, had been badly weakened** **by the raids perpetrated by** **ironborn raiders who had refused to surrender after defeat in the Greyjoy refusal of the Crown to help had only increased** **the vitriol most of the riverlords felt for House Targaryen.**

 **In the Vale, the death of Jon Arryn and his heirs** **had necessitated the selection of a new Great House. The cadet** **branches** **of House** **Arryn were not strong enough to command the respect they felt was theirs by right. In the** **end, the title went to House Royce of Runestone,** **the rulers of** **the Vale** **before the arrival of the Andals. In the Stormlands, the status of Lord Paramount belonged to the last** **surviving Baratheon brother, Renly. While well** **liked** **and** **a decent lord,** **it was not an unpopular sentiment among the stormlords that he was inferior to both his brothers.**

 **The houses that were loyal to the Targaryens fought** **amongst themselves for royal favor. Houses Martell and Lannister had become enemies since a Lannister** **bannerman had raped and murdered Queen Elia Martell in the chaos that ensued after the Battle of the Trident. House Tyrell had seized the opportunity and gained from the distraction of the other two loyalist houses. All the while, the ironborn watched with resentment as the greenlands prospered and** **they were forbidden to take it for themselves. Many hungered for war and another chance to return to the days when the reavers of the Iron Islands held all of Westeros in their grasp.**

 **This was the troubled world that the greatest Targaryen of them all lived in. In** **the end, only fire and blood could wash the realm clean. And only one man had the strength of body and the will of mind to lead in these dark times: Jon Targaryen."**

 **-The Dragon of the North: Tales of the First Lord**

First edition. Printed by University of Winterfell

 **JON**

The quiet solitude of the godswood was interrupted by the arrival of a young man. Dressed in a black doublet, breeches, and a fur cloak, Jon Targaryen made his way to the pool by which the weirwood tree stood.

He kept his eyes on the heart tree's face, his blank face not betraying anything of the chaos of emotions churning within him.

For barely an hour past, his lord uncle had informed him of the King's wish to visit Winterfell. After more than eight years, he would see his father again. But it was little cause for joy, for the King's arrival could only mean one thing: Jon was to return to King's Landing.

Jon loved it here in the North, in Winterfell.

The place, the weather, and most of all the people.

His uncle, Lord Eddard Stark, whose stern demeanor hid an immensely kind heart. Lady Catelyn Tully Stark, who had become the mother he so desperately wanted his whole life, as his real one had been married away to Jaime Lannister barely a month after he was born.

His cousins, especially Robb and Arya, who he counted to be closer to his heart than anyone else in the world. Domeric Bolton, Cley Cerwyn, and Daryn Hornwood. His closest friends. They were the ones who understood him, the only people who he knew would always be there for him.

Jon looked upon the solemn face of the weirwood tree and knelt, sighing.

When he had been sent away from King's Landing to live in Winterfell all those years ago, many including himself had viewed it as punishment for fighting with the Greyjoy ward, Theon.

Instead it had been the single best decision his father had ever made for him. He had arrived here at the age of ten namedays, with only Ser Oswell Whent as company.

He had arrived frightened and hurting, but from the very first day, the Starks greeted him with open arms and that had never changed. For nearly eight years, life had been good.

It was a change from the way Rhaenys used to spitefully pull his hair and pinch him, calling him names and telling him that he should be thanking the gods that the King had decided to acknowledge the bastard of his whore as a legitimate son. It was a change from Viserys sneering at him from the shadows, disparaging of his birth on the wrong side of the bed.

It was a change from the way the Martells and the Lannisters, particularly Queen Cersei, stare at him with contempt, remarking at how fortunate the Wolf Bitch's son had even been allowed to grow up with the privileges of a prince.

The servants and staff at the Red Keep had often tiptoed around him, silently sneering at him and gossiping behind his back.

"...Did you know that the King's Stark mistress is immensely happy with her husband? I hear they celebrated a second daughter's nameday a week ago." That had hurt worse than Rhaenys could have done to him.

And above all, coming to Winterfell was a change from the times his father often looked at him, like he didn't know what to do with Jon. Oh there was no doubt that there was a part of Rhaegar that loved Jon. The prince remembered the nights his father used to tuck him in to bed as a small child or when he used to give Jon rides on his back, pretending that he was a dragon. Yet as Jon grow older, his father became more and more distant.

The past eight years had buried those memories, and he had been happy for the first time in his life. But with news from the South, they had come rushing back.

A raven had come from King's Landing, informing the Starks that King Rhaegar, a large number of his family and friends, and many others would be visiting Winterfell to discuss important matters of state. .

Jon begged the old gods to give him the strength to bear with his family and to deal with the rage that would undoubtedly appear as he talked to them.

As he got up, there was a flash in the air and he threw up his arms to protect his eyes from the light. When he opened them, the snow for almost a foot around the tree had melted into slush. Jon glanced around, wondering what in Seven Hells had just happened. He glanced down and noticed a golden glint at the foot of the tree.

Jon picked it up and gazed with silent wonder at what lay in his hand.

It was a ring, a simple band of gold, the only remarkable quality being an inscription on it that looked like it was glowing, like an ember from a campfire. And yet, the metal itself was cool, almost cold to the touch. As quickly as he had seen it, the inscription faded away.

Jon felt a rush of excitement that he could not temper with reason for there was none fathomable that could be found.

 _Magic. People say magic is dead, but what else can this be? I can't wait to show this to Maester Luwin and Robb!_

But as quickly as that thought appeared, so did it disappear, with a very unwelcome one taking its place.

 _What if they want to take it from me? It's mine, I found it after all! Perhaps it's best if it stays secret for a while longer. At least until I know more about it._

Looking at the ring, he tried it on, admiring how something so simple could look so beautiful. The effect was immediate, his body disappeared before his eyes, and yet somehow he could still see it. But it was like looking at a pale version of it, strings of an ethereal substance drifting from all he saw.

Everything around him was so … and then he looked at the weirwood tree. Part of him wanted to scream in terror and disgust. But another looked upon it with immense wonder for it was even more beautiful than how it normally looked. The tree was drenched in blood, with the face on it shifting from happy to angry to solemn and back again.

But it was also beautiful, with a strange white light emanating around it. The air smelled sweet and rang with the tunes of a strangely melodious song. Knowing somewhere deep down that if he continued looking, he would go mad, and he tore off the ring from his finger.

The world immediately became normal once more and the ancient weirwood looked as it always had with its white bark and scarlet leaves.

"Jon!"

His cousin's shout startled him out of his reverie. But Robb couldn't see this, not yet. Jon immediately slipped it into the pouch at his belt, and turned around to face his cousin.

"There you are, Targaryen!" his cousin exclaimed. "I've been looking all over the castle for you!"

"What is it, Stark?"

"My father wants to talk to you more about the King's visit in the coming months."

 _As if enough hadn't happened today,_ Jon thought sourly.

"Now come on, Jon!" Robb had grown impatient.

"I'll come in just a moment, be right behind you" Jon replied, his calm voice giving no signs of the fear that was running rampant inside him, or so he hoped.

Robb shrugged and began walking back to the castle. As soon as he was out of sight, Jon took the ring out of his pocket. If it had been wondrous before, it was now downright miraculous to him. And yet...it was so strange, and something was warning him from the back of his mind to throw it somewhere in the wolfswood.

But even as he began to do so, he stopped.

 _There has been no magic for almost countless centuries and the first thing that comes along that is undoubtedly so, you want to throw away? What's wrong with you?_

Jon looked closely at the ring. It had already begun to grow on him. It had begun to become...precious to him, and now he found he could not throw it away.

 _Who knows, perhaps this means wondrous things are about to happen! I would be a fool to throw that away._

Reassured, he slipped the ring back into his pocket and ran to catch up with his cousin. And throughout that whole time, Jon was unaware that eyes were watching him. Ghostly eyes filled with a vast, malevolent, and inhuman intelligence. The chance to escape its prison, a prison it had been in for countless ages, had arrived.

 **ROBB**

Robb watched his cousin as they trudged back to the castle.

Jon had always been rather tactiturn, but now he seemed downright despondent.

Not that Robb could blame him. He had heard Jon talk about his family during the few times they had gotten him to open up about life in King's Landing.

Neither Robb nor his friends and family had been pleased at hearing Jon's description. Lord Eddard's face had grown cold when he heard and his eyes had become gray stone.

 _No one hates Rhaegar more than Father. He lost his everything because of the King's actions. And Jon has suffered as well, another source of rage for my father._

 _My somber cousin doesn't need to mope anymore than he already does. Any more and all that progress Daryn and I have made on him for the last six years will go up in smoke!_

"What's eating at you _this_ time, Jon?" he asked

"Nothing, Robb." Jon trudged on, not giving away anything more.

"Are you sure? That frown certainly didn't come on its own," Robb teased his cousin.

"Frowning is what people do when they think of immense things, dear cousin."

"What's that?" Robb asked innocently.

"Oh, thinking? It means using the mind to wonder at the events of life. Something you can try,you know."

"Would it get me any wenches? I noticed that it doesn't work for you."

"Oh go chase a maid for a kiss, Stark. You're never going to get it, you know." Jon's mouth was now slightly curved. He was amused.

"Is that the best you can do? I heard worse from Daryn and Hodor," Robb jeered.

"Hodor can't even say anything besides his own name, stupid," Jon said, smirking as he did so.

"That's the point. He's still more articulate than you."

"Articulate, now that's a big word. You sure you didn't hurt yourself coming up with that, Stark?" Jon asked his cousin.

"I can come up with something simpler if you like," Robb said haughtily.

"Oh? By all means, don't keep me in suspense, cousin."

"Dimwit," Robb said with the aura of the profound.

"Describe dimwit, Robb."

"In two words?" Robb asked with a triumphant grin on his face. He had caught Jon now.

"Why not?" Jon asked, tempted to roll his eyes.

"Prince Jon."

"You are a complete ass, Robb Stark," Jon retorted.

And so it went back and forth. Robb was delighted to see the frown disappear and a small smile take its place. They were still going back in forth when they arrived at his father's solar.

They were still walking when Robb noticed a golden glint at the pouch on his cousin's belt. "What's that?"

"It's nothing, Robb." Robb knew he could continue arguing, but since he had worked so hard to ring Jon back into a good mood, he let it go.

 _Besides, sooner or later, Jon will tell me. We always tell each other._ Until then, it was best to put it out of his mind. He said goodbye to his cousin and told Jon he would see him at dinner.

Robb was walking back to his quarters when he heard a furious shriek and spotted Sansa chasing after Arya, quite a far cry from the gentle lady she was trying to be.

"At it again, are they?" he muttered under his breath. He walked forward and stopped them both. Now what is this about?"

Sansa pointed a finger at their little sister and said, "She just said that I shouldn't bother trying to act like a lady, because Queen Cersei and Princess Rhaenys hate Northerners anyway. She also asked me why I bothered consorting with the enemy."

"Of course I did. Father wouldn't be pleased if you got the attention of any of the Court, let alone a prince. Have you forgotten how they treated Jon?"

"Jon was a small child back then. Mayhaps he thought what was actually happening in the weong way. Surely no one can be that cruel, especially to a prince of the Blood, " Sansa said, glaring at her sister.

 _I wouldn't be so sure.._

He had heard a steady source of rumors from the South, mainly from the Riverlands, detailing the cruelty and pettiness of the queen and her eldest son. Even if he didn't trust in rumors, he trusted Jon's word. And he was immensely proud of his sister for standing up for what she believed, just like he knew Lord Eddard would be.

Sansa immediately said, "Even if there was some truth, how can you not want to go to court, Arya? It'll be just like in the stories. Proud knights riding for fair ladies, deeds of honor and valor."

At that, Robb's face contorted into a scowl. As different Jon and Sansa were, they both believed in stories. Sansa however, wholeheartedly believed they were true and that everyone of nobility was like that. Jon, on the other hand, knew quite differently. As he turned toward Sansa to remark that life was not a story, his youngest sister spoke.

"So what? Even if Jon if proven false, it's not as if anyone will look at me while your presence is noted. I'll still be just Arya Horseface to everyone. The court needs to be here only for a week to pick that up."

Sansa just stood there, shock and possibly guilt on her face, before gently touching Arya's face. "You're still my sister. You're a Stark. Remember that. No come with me, because I'm going to turn you into such a beautiful lady that no courtier will dare say that."

Robb was so shocked at the appearance of Sansa's sweet side that he almost missed Arya beginning to open her mouth, probably to say that was stupid. He sent a warning glare towards his youngest sister, who immediately closed her mouth and sullenly acquiesced. As she began to follow Sansa, he leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"She's trying to be nice, but that's the only way she knows how. Just put up with it and I'll let you handle a sword for a while in the training yard little sister."

Arya immediately brightened and began walking faster. Robb was still shaking his head in surprise at how his sisters were growing up. _Sansa might be spoiled and somewhat ignorant, but there's no denying that she's an immensely kind girl at heart._

But just as he began to relax, he spotted Bran climbing up one of the towers. Robb knew that if his mother caught Bran _again,_ she would give his brother a scolding that would last until after dinner.

As he ran towards Bran, as much as for his ears' sake as Bran's, he balefully thought how lucky Jon was to not have to deal with this situation every day of his life.

 _The duties of an older brother are never ending, it seems._

 _A boring one to be sure, but a life he loved after all he had seen and done._

 _In the months and years to come, he would remember that day as the day everything changed. The day when the last of his innocence would begin to die._


	2. Chapter 2

**"Less than eleven years after the Greyjoy Rebellion, chaos enveloped Westeros once more. In the Riverlands, unidentified attacks started taking place. Bandits would swoop in from out of nowhere and attack the villages and towns, raiding and raping as they pleased. Normally, bandits would have been little problem to the riverlords. But these were not normal times.**

 **Lord Hoster Tully mysteriously fell ill before he could do anything to solve the problem. His brother, Brynden Blackfish, while able to command their united respect, did not have enough political clout and experience to bring the lords to toe the line. Hoster's son, Edmure, was even more disadvantaged.**

 **While a good Lord Paramount in peacetime, he was woefully inadequate during war. It did not help matters that as he had not fought in either of the two wars of his time, he was viewed as little more than a green boy.**

 **Unable to decide on a leader, the riverlords quarreled amongst themselves despite the danger they were in. Later generations would condemn them for almost intentionally trying to cut off the nose to spite the face. The disaster that ensued as the lords fought the raiders by themselves to prove they needed no one to defend themselves only solidifies the view.**

 **But misfortune arose even when they finally realized they needed the help of the other kingdoms. Due to a case of sickness spreading throughout the southern portion of the realm, aid could not be sent. Not even a direct appeal to the Crown had results. Discouraged and resentful, it seemed that the Riverlands would collapse into anarchy.**

 **That is, it would have had not an informal gathering of Northern lordlings and warriors had been touring the land. The war that would ensue would be the first step of Jon Targaryen's rise above the common sentiment of him and would put him on the path that would lead to him becoming the greatest ruler Westeros had ever known."**

 **\- Dragon of the North: Tales of the First Lord**

1st edition. Printed by University of WInterfell

 **DOMERIC**

Domeric Bolton took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He had been trying not to strangle the grinning demon sent from the Seven Hells in front of him for some time now. Unfortunately for him, the grinning demon was also his best friend, so he obviously couldn't continue with that particular plan.

 _More's the pity. Does Daryn not have someone else to bother?_ , he thought ruefully. _No of course not. Since Lord Pout has decided to mope today, Robb has probably convinced Daryn to bother me instead._

And what was worse was that Robb was gleefully watching his little situation with Daryn. He was even eating a lemon cake with relish while doing so, the ass.

Domeric mentally noted to himself to try and crush both Robb and Daryn in the training session today with Ser Oswell. _If I'm going to be miserable, they're going to be miserable too. Especially since they're the cause of my present suffering._

"So. Dom." Daryn was grinning. When Daryn grinned, bad things tended to happen.

"Yes, Daryn?" Inside, Domeric was already dreading what his best friend was about to say.

"Were Dacey Mormont's tits as big as they say?" Daryn asked with relish.

 _Oh by the old gods and the new, not this again! This has been going on since we came back from Bear Island two moons ago!_ "I am not going to answer that, Daryn. You should be ashamed for even asking me that!" Domeric tried to infuse his voice with contempt and disappointment, willing his face to frown instead of the expression of blushing embarrassment that would most definitely form otherwise.

Daryn shrugged and said, "You can't blame me for not being curious. Dacey does have quite the sensuous figure after all."

"Why don't you pull your dirty mind from women and focus on how you're going to beat me with that sword today instead?"

"I think I can afford to think instead on how I'm going to use my other sword better than you, Dom,"Daryn responded with an insolent grin. His famous, shit-eating grin as it were.

"Not likely, Daryn. Because while you're the same age as me, you are still a virgin _boy_. And I...am not." Domeric thought he might have gone too far, but the sight of Daryn's stunned face and the blissful sound of silence induced a feeling of victory, petty and insignificant as it was. Daryn was probably awestruck on how the calm and so-called incorruptible Domeric had gone _there._

But the surprise did not last long. That damn shit-eating grin returned even wider than before, this time with a maliciously gleeful twinkle in Daryn's eyes accompanying it.

Domeric felt his stomach sink then and he experienced horrifying visions of what Daryn might do to him, each one more horrible than the last.

Daryn continued grinning, but it was more like the grin of a starving wolf when it has caught its prey than a real grin.

"So...you _did_ bed her then," he said smugly.

 _Oh damn it all!_ Now that Daryn had received his confirmation, he was never going to let it go. At best, he would be continuously asking what it was like to bed the warrior woman. At worst, Daryn would use it to embarrass him in some way or form.

 _If he finds out that I actually like her a lot, the idiot is probably going to burst his lungs laughing. At all costs that at least must be kept secret._

To his utter relief, Ser Oswell chose that moment to stomp onto the training yard.

"If you ladies are done gossiping, you might consider getting over here sometime before next winter", he said, glancing at their direction.

Then he rounded on poor Robb still eating his lemon cake, who had unfortunately not seen Ser Oswell coming.

"And you, are you planning to be as fat as Lord Wyman? Because if you continue eating that like a cunt-starved wretch, you definitely will."

" N-n-no, Ser." Robb immediately dropped his lemon cake onto the ground. If Sansa had seen it, she would probably have burst into tears. As it was, Robb was still sneaking the occasional mournful glance at the cake on the ground while talking with Whent.

"I thought not. If you did, no one would believe such fat slugs helped end the threat of bandits in the Riverlands." Ser Oswell then looked around, probably wondering where Jon was.

"And where's your cousin, Stark?"

Robb just shrugged. "My father said he wanted to talk to him. He's probably just talking a bit more than he intended to."

"As long as your father keeps control on how much he says, that's no problem."

At that Robb bristled, but before he could say something that would probably land him in cleaning Ser Oswell's armor for a month, Jon entered the training yard.

"There you are, Jon! Get your gear and come over here." Oswell then turned around and slipped toward the back of the training yard where he would be able to oversee everything.

As Jon walked up to Domeric's side, Domeric noticed that he seemed pale.

"Are you alright Jon?" Dom asked, concerned.

"What? Oh...yes. I'm fine."

Domeric narrowed his eyes. _Yes, and I'm the King of Westeros._

"Daryn, you're paired with Jon. Robb, you're with Domeric."

As the boys swung their dull steel swords at their opponents, Domeric started chatting with Robb.

"Does Jon's behavior seem a bit...odd to you, Robb?"

Robb sidestepped a slash and thrust his blade at Domeric's suddenly open flank. Domeric snapped his own sword back to stop it, before dropping it and feinting at Robb's head. Robb just lifted his shield and thrust his sword at Domeric's legs. Domeric deflected again and they started circling each other, looking for an opening.

"Of course it's odd, Dom. The royal family, his family, the one that HATES him, is coming here. Is it such a surprise he is acting a bit strangely?"

"Strangely, no. That's not a surprise. Scared and showing it, yes. Jon is not one to easily show fear, Robb. Remember that ambush at Harrenhal?"

"Yes...?"

"We were all frightened, but Jon didn't show it at all. He just stood his ground, seemingly unafraid. Seeing a member of the blood being so unafraid was what gave our force the strength it needed to defeat the bandits."

"Aye, and got an arrow through his chainmail for it when he rushed forward with everyone else. A little more to the right, and it would actually have gone into his flesh. You better choose another example to prove your point."

Then Robb sighed. "Perhaps there is something going on deeper than family troubles, Dom. But it's not our place to pry unless it's affecting his health and mind or that of others. He will tell us when he is ready."

Domeric reluctantly nodded. Oswell suddenly shouted. "LESS TALKING! MORE SPARRING!"

Robb then made a feint towards Domeric's legs. Domeric knew because Robb's body was not clenched in the way one would if they were committing to an attack. That and because Robb's eyes had ever so slightly, for barely a moment, shifted to where he was planning to strike.

Domeric just swung his weighted sword. It landed heavily on Robb's leather, giving quite a satisfying CRACK! Domeric followed through with bash of his shield to Robb's chest, knocking him off his feet. Domeric had won.

"AARGGH! That hurt!" Robb glared at him, eyes burning with anger.

"Of course it did, dimwit. It's supposed to hurt!" Domeric snapped back.

 _Well at least I managed to pay him back for setting Daryn loose on me._

"Yield, Robb?"

"Aye, I yield. Seven Hells, Dom. You got quite a swing, "Robb said as Domeric pulled him up from the ground.

Domeric nodded and glanced at their friends. Jon had won his bout as well, backhanding his sword pommel into Daryn's face before quickly hitting him on the legs, chest, and back while Daryn was still stunned.

Oswell nodded with approval. "Good work. That's enough for now. Everyone gather around."

"Jon, excellent work with the sword and remembering to use whatever way you can to win in actual battle. Your shield was too low though, and you kept on getting careless with your defense."

"Daryn, your skill with the sword was good, but it is not remarkable. I suppose I should be glad your skill with the morningstar is extremely good."

"Domeric, excellent. But you leave your flanks unprotected far too often and a bit too long. In a real battle, that'll get you killed quickly."

"Robb, good work as well. Remember to keep what you plan to do secret though. Otherwise, skill will help you very little if you give your exact intentions away."

Oswell then smiled, a rare sight. He nodded again, a smile on his face. "If you had faced those bandits six months ago with the skill you now possess, you four wouldn't have needed anyone on your side. You would have thrashed them alone! I stopped the training session early today as I've felt you four have earned a reward for not letting your success in the war get to your head."

Domeric wondered for a moment if Robb had bashed his head too hard and he was only feeling the effects now. Looking around, Domeric noticed the same thought on his friends's faces. There was a strange mixture of apprehension and pleasure present on all of them. _Compliments? Who are you and what have you done with Ser Oswell?_

Then Oswell scowled. "Let that go to your head as well and I'll show you how far you pretty-faced lordlings still need to go, especially against someone like me!"

Domeric sighed in relief. _That_ was the Ser Oswell they all knew! All was well once again.

As they put their gear away and walked towards whatever things they did when they were free, Domeric walked beside Jon. The prince looked much better now, a slight smile on his face. But Domeric was still curious as to what was wrong when Jon suddenly veered away and walked towards the godswood.

 _The godswood again? Maybe I should just ignore what Robb says and better follow him to see what's wrong._

He quashed any feelings of guilt _. My friend - no, my brother-is in some kind of trouble, and I am just to stand by and do nothing?_

Domeric silently sneaked after him, hiding himself behind a tree whenever Jon looked back. Domeric was barely ten feet away from him when Jon placed his hand into his belt pouch and brought out what looked like a simple gold ring. After staring at it with something that appeared to be a mixture of fear and wonder, Jon slipped it on. Immediately, he disappeared into thin air.

At that Domeric gasped in shock and lurched forward. "JON!"

Immediately Jon reappeared, the ring off his finger, and eyes wide with surprise. The surprise quickly changed to anger.

"Dom, what are you doing? Were you following me?"

"Yes, I followed you. You been acting strange since Lord Stark told us this morning that the King was coming here! You been at the godswood twice already today alone and you looked scared at the training yard. I thought it was something you were thinking that you were scared of. I didn't think it would be magic of all things!"

"That doesn't give you the right to follow me!"

"We're worried about you. We know what those people did to you, and your actions today didn't help alleviate those fears."

There was a pause as prince and lord regarded each other. "What happened Jon? How did you get that ring? What is going on?"

Jon then sighed. "It happened earlier today. I was praying to the gods to give me strength for what is to come when there was a flash of light in the air. This gold ring had appeared at the base of the tree, the snow around it had melted where it was cold and frozen only moments before. I tried it on, and well... You saw what happened."

Domeric felt his curiosity overwhelm his fear and he asked, "Can I see it?"

Jon hesitated for a moment and brought the ring closer. It was indeed a simple, wide band of gold. Except the fact that it was gold, there were no remarkable features like an inscription or a gem. And yet, there was something alluring about it, so alluring that Domeric suddenly felt a wave of intense desire wash over him. He stepped back and regarded it with the same fear and wonder that was on Jon's face only minutes before.

"Are you going to tell Robb or Daryn or Cley? Were you in fact planning to tell anyone?"

Jon just closed his eyes. "Of course I was planning to tell you four. I just needed some time to understand this. It's so wonderful, but at the same time, it's so scary."

Domeric nodded, still in a daze. "Just be sure to tell them soon though. They won't be pleased that I found out before them and that you still didn't tell them for some time."

Jon chuckled, and the tension immediately disappeared. "No, they won't be pleased. I'll tell them in a day or two. But for now I would just like to be alone."

Jon's face softened even further as he added, "Now that you found out, it's not going to be so hard revealing it to others. But right now I'd like to be left alone for a little while please."

Domeric nodded and smiled. He turned around and walked towards the castle, lost in his mind, as Jon knelt in front of the weirwood tree.

 _Magic,_ ** _actual_** _magic like in the stories. I don't know if I ought to be jumping up and down in excitement, or run to find the nearest hole I can curl up in and escape it all,_

As he continued walking, he delved deeper into his mind. _There are so many things out there that we Westerosi don't know about, and then there are things which absolutely_ ** _no one_** _knows about. The world grows stranger and more wondrous by the day. I feel that it is changing, and fast. Very little will be the same by the end._

"Domeric!" At that Domeric started in surprise. For there was Daryn leaning against the wall, his usual shit-eating grin fixed in place on his face.

"You didn't think you could get away that easily from telling me about your ... Encounter with Dacey Mormont did you? I need details, Dom. _Copious_ details."

Domeric groaned. Some things on the other hand didn't change at all, and never would. Things like Daryn being an annoying ass, for example.

 **SANSA**

Sansa looked left and right before exiting the armory. It was late at night, and no one would notice. She slipped into the First Keep and sighed in relief. She then drew what she had been hiding in her pack.

If anyone saw her right now, they would be shocked beyond belief at what she was doing. A small part of her that wasn't the dignified lady she had been for almost eight years, since she had turned eight in fact, was giggling and imagining with amusement what it would be like if someone actually did discover her.

She bent her bow back and strung it. Standing up, she looked around for a suitable target. The wooden knot at one of the fire pits might do. She nocked her arrow and drew back, as perfectly as the Mormonts had taught her when the elder Starks had visited Bear Island.

She had not started this because she had an avid interest in weapons. After one too many arguments with Arya, she had left and gone to her rooms in a huff. She could no longer do this with her sister and she was no longer a child. She ought to be sensible, to find common ground with her sister, not to devolve into shrieking.

The trouble was that there was literally nothing that they had in common, even their looks. Where her sister was dark-haired and grey-eyed like a Stark, she was Tully fire-red and had sky blue eyes. Where Arya loved fighting and unladylike pursuits, she loved sewing and gossiping and detested fighting. Arya was loud and unrestrained, like her aunt Lyanna had been as a young woman. Sansa was quiet and graceful, much like their mother, Lady Catelyn.

In short, there was no common ground. Her sister was so wild and rebellious that even their mother had long given up on making her a proper lady. Her father on the other hand, had laughed and said that it was the wolfsblood showing, like it had with Aunt Lyanna and her uncle Brandon. Sansa had run out of patience and tolerance, and could not bear with the situation any longer.

Then she had remembered advice that her mother had given long ago when she had gotten into an argument with Beth Cassel.

 _She told me that in an argument, you have to find common ground to be able to truly get along. And if you cannot find it,_ ** _make_** _one_.

She highly doubted that this was what her mother had in mind though. If anything Lady Catelyn would be horrified if she had found out. Sansa herself was still stunned that she had actually thought of doing this.

But a small part of her actually liked doing this, delighted in this small rebellion as it were. She released...and the arrow sailed over her target. Clucking with disappointment, she remembered Dacey had told her that skill with the bow required constant practice, and so so she tried again.

She had just drawn it back, when she heard a voice full of disbelief behind her.

" _Sansa?_ "

She slipped in her shock, and the arrow hit the table leg right next to the knot.

Sansa turned around and saw Jon, face slack with disbelief, putting something away in his belt pouch.

"What are you doing here Sansa? This late in the night? And why do you have a BOW?!

Sansa hid the bow behind her back, knowing she looked like a guilt child caught by the cook for stealing treats.

"What are you doing here?" Jon regarded her with a gaze that was so much like her father's.

"I could ask you the same question, Jon", she snapped back.

At that Jon's eyes lit with unexpected amusement. 'So it seems both of us are out late in the night when we are not supposed to. Do you mind telling me why?"

"Only if you tell me as well."

"Fine. I was still disturbed over the matter of my family coming here and I felt a walk would help."

At that Sansa's eyes widened in surprise. She had heard Jon tell of his place in the royal family, often to his group of friends, even once to her father and mother. The cruelty he described, the mistreatment he had endured, especially at the hands of Princes Viserys and Joffrey were hard to believe though.

 _All the tales speak of handsome knights and beautiful ladies. There are no ugly heroes in an tale, so how can one be so beautiful and yet be as cruel as Jon describes?_

She remembered thinking that when she had heard Jon speaking about it for the first time almost three years ago.

Sansa could not believe it then. She merely thought Jon was exaggerating a small fight, or maybe even lying to gain sympathy.

But the story was always the same, and the sad look in his eyes and on his face were too full of emotion to be a mummer's farce. While she still desired to go to court, and found it hard to believe anyone would be that cruel, especially the Queen, doubt had entered her heart and mind.

She regarded her cousin more closely. Despite the affection she had for him, and he for her, they were not close. That would be Robb and Arya.

All she knew was that he was her cousin, the firstborn son of her estranged aunt Lyanna, who was now the wife of Jaime Lannister and mother of her younger cousins Loren, Jason, Alys, and Lynara Lannister.

She did not even know what his favorite colors were or what made him laugh. She had simply never bothered to know in the past eight years.

But lately, Jon had been more in her mind, especially since the trip two years ago.

Jon, Robb, Domeric, Daryn Hornwood, Cley Cerwyn, and a few other of the Northern lordlings had all gone on a tour of the Seven Kingdoms. Her father believed it was best for a Prince of the Blood to know more about the realm his family ruled.

The others, especially Jon's four best friends, had gone because Jon needed company and Lord Eddard thought it was a good idea to learn more about other areas rather than just their own. Unspoken was the fact that there was still a great deal of anger towards the Targaryens and their presence would protect him.

They had left with a force of two hundred men.

When they had gotten to the Riverlands however, they had found it in chaos. Her grandfather was sick, her uncle was quite ineffectual, and bandits were raiding and raping.

The Crown had already been called for help, but as a small spate of sickness had broken out in King's Landing, the royal forces could do nothing for the nonce. Jon and his companions were all quite eager to help however. They met with small successes but the allies were losing more than winning. It had not been until Harrenhal that the tide had turned.

While they were scouting, the "Wolf Lords", as they had come to be called, were ambushed by a force fifty and hundred strong near Harrenhal. Their own had about only ten and eighty. The ambush had almost successfully worked, but the sight of Jon sitting resolute on his horse had emboldened the company, and while they were still forced to flee, had managed to do so with very few casualties while inflicting heavy casualties on their enemies. Many considered it the first notable victory they had in some time.

The smallfolk of the Riverlands had been by this time quite cowed by the raiders, and had refused to fight. The boost in morale, along with the fact that Jon had gone to many of the villages and towns and entreated them to rise and protect their lands changed that.

What he actually said and did to convince them was not known to her, but whatever it was, it was successful. With the smallfolk ready to fight, only the lords were left.

The only reason the entire region hadn't broken apart yet was because of the strength of her granduncle Brynden Tully. But he had caught the sickness, and was weakened, allowing the bandits free reign as the lords squabbled on who would lead.

Robb's tactical prowess, as it was his plans that had led to the small successes of before, not to mention he was Lord Tully's grandson helped embolden them. Jon, whose skill with the sword, determined ferocity, and diplomatic prowess, inspired the lords the same way he had done with the smallfolk.

He had even manage to force the ancient enemies of Bracken and Blackwood to work together. Successes had mounted after that. One by one, the lords's strongholds and dominions were freed from the strength of the raiders and it was when one particular raiding party was captured at Fairmarket that the puppeteer of the bandits and the entire war was revealed.

It was none other than Euron Greyjoy, the only Greyjoy brother who had not knelt at the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion. He had disappeared with seven longships and there was no news of him for years. He had been raiding the shores of Essos, gaining enough wealth to attract sellswords and others of an unsavory nature. Knowing how little respect there was for the Tully heir, Euron had her grandfather, Hoster, poisoned.

His plans were working until Jon and the others had arrived.

At the Saltplans, Robb had some of the soldiers dig holes in the dead of night and hide in them. He then lured the enemy's full strength to the Saltpans offering the bait of a royal prince as ransom. She had later heard from Robb that it was Jon himself who had come up with the idea of bait.

Like maggots to rotting meat, they came.

The trap was then sprung and the raiders were caught between the hammer and the anvil. During that battle, Euron had come close to killing Daryn Hornwood, Eddard Karstark, and Smalljon Umber.

He was stopped by Jon's arrival with the cavalry. Jon had gone on to attack Euron himself, something which he had later admitted in private was a rather stupid idea as the ironborn was a far more experienced warrior, not to mention without any sort of honor.

But Jon managed to cut off Euron's left hand when he had left it undefended too long, and the ensuing wound forced Euron to flee to his longship along with many of his ironborn warriors. Their leader fleeing, many lost the will to fight and surrendered, but were quickly butchered for all they had inflicted on the Riverlands. And so the Raider War, as it came to be known, ended. After her grandfather and Ser Brynden had recovered, the Wolf Lords were acclaimed for their deeds.

Jon's actions in particular, had salvaged the reputation of the Targaryens in the Riverlands and his rescue of the Northern heirs ended the last resentment and grudges that many in the North had against Jon himself for good.

They had returned to Winterfell as heroes, Jon at the front.

For months afterward, Arya and Bran wouldn't stop pestering their brother and cousin for details. Sansa herself had been enamored by the heroic deeds and was delighted that her brother and cousin were heroes like in the songs. Of course it was hard for her to look upon them as actual heroes when she knew their most embarrassing secrets and habits.

The brief time she had taken to remember all of that must not have gone unnoticed, for Jon was waiting impatiently for her murmured in a very soft voice.

"What?"

"I said that I wanted to learn how to shoot a bow so I can have something to get along with Arya."

"I'm sorry, but _what_?" Jon looked like someone had just struck him with a hammer.

She snapped. "You heard me."

"I'm tired of continuously fighting with her. We never get anything done when we're arguing. And in truth, I just don't want to fight. I'm not the same girl I was four years ago."

Jon looked at her, his face inscrutable. "So you are."

"Promise you will not tell anyone? I want to become good at this so I can hold my own against her. She loves weapons and fighting. I don't like swords or bashing people however, and a polearm is too unwieldy for a lady. This was the only weapon of choice left."

Jon smiled. "I promise. But you have to know, you're doing it a bit wrong."

"But this is the way Dacey taught me!"

"Yes, your form is fine. But there are small mistakes you are making that are adding up. Relax your bow arm for one. And don't tense or hold your aim for longer than a second. Here, let me show you."

As Jon stepped up, she was cushioned against him as he helped her. At this distance, she saw and felt everything about him. His tall, slender frame, his lean and long fingered hands, lustrous dark hair, the way he smelled of blue roses, and even the fact that he was incredibly handsome when smiling.

At that, she suddenly snapped to attention. Jon looked at her in bemusement.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. So this is how you're supposed to do it?"

Under his direction, she drew the arrow back and released. To her delight, while it did not strike the knot proper, it hit very close to the edge.

"I almost got it!' She smiled in victory. It was an incredible improvement over before.

"Yes, but not everything. Since you are a beginner, we will start slowly," Jon said, a small smile on his face.

"We?" she asked in astonishment.

"Yes." At that Jon was...blushing? "I could help you learn, especially since you're interested."

Sansa smiled. "I would like that. It has been a long day though. We shall start tomorrow. I shall see you at breakfast Jon."She turned away to seek her bed, her mind racing with what Jon taught her as well as the fact that he was very handsome when one spent time with him.

At that, she blushed. _Jon and I? What an odd thought._

And yet, the thought did not go away, merely buried in her mind. As she left, she missed the look of affection and interest in her cousin's also did not see, as the door was closing behind her, Jon reaching into his pouch and bringing out a gold ring which he slipped onto his finger. He then disappeared into thin air.


End file.
